


Dash Away All

by Yeomanrand



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012), The Adventures of Brisco County Jr.
Genre: Christmas, Crossover, Gen, Gifts, Green apples, POV Animal, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Present Tense, accidental crossover, unlikely friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 19:26:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5510150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeomanrand/pseuds/Yeomanrand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Comet is bored, and cold. At least, until he has a couple of unexpected visitors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dash Away All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesertScribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertScribe/gifts).



Comet drowses in his stall, his muzzle resting just above the dirt. He has a belly full of hay and Brisco gave him a more-thorough-than-usual currying before running off to meet Dixie, but no green apples, so he's only mostly content. His nose picks up dust and more hay and the barn cat's urine; leather and horse sweat; cold air and pine. Mostly typical stable smells. 

Something tickles his shoulder and he swats it off with his tail, following up with a shiver of the skin. 

He's bored. And a little cold.

He picks up his head and rattles his feed bucket. Annoying the stablemaster should be good for a few minutes entertainment, anyway. 

There's no answer, so Comet rattles the steel a little harder — enough to knock it over — and then he kicks it for good measure. The resulting _clang_ is satisfying, but gets no response. Even the horses can't be bothered; there are no answering huffs, no whinnies, not even a nicker.

He snorts; his breath fogs in the air. 

Which...is strange. Abnormal. Enough that he'd think the animals around him would notice.

He lifts his head up over the stable door and scans the room. Rotates his ears to listen to the whole barn. The cat is asleep. With a mouse pinned under her paw: if he strains he can just hear its slow, steady breathing, too. 

Comet paws at the ground and snorts again. Looks for the latch on his door. Has to take a few minutes to work out how to swing the icy little piece of metal up and back so he can use his head to push the door open. He pauses again to listen, tail swishing behind him, and shoulders his way out into the passage.

Drops his head and snuffles the ground, looking for the strong green-apple smell of Brisco or the soft violet scent of Dixie. There hadn't been much traffic through the stable that day, so they're easy enough to pick up. He hopes they know what's going on.

He makes his way to the stable's doors, where he discovers the stablemaster's boy is also asleep. Comet drops his head down into the boy's straw-colored hair and nickers. And then pulls back a step when the boy swings at him in his sleep but doesn't wake. He tries rubbing the soft skin on his nose against the boy's cheek. Even tries licking him. The most he gets are sleepy mumbles.

He sighs and looks at the door. Buildings are so much more difficult than stalls. This one's too solidly built for a good kick to knock down.

He drifts over to a hay bale to eat something while he's thinking; everything's brain food as far as he's concerned. Something prickles along his hip and he flicks his tail again, stomps the foot. The air's almost too cold for flies; he turns his head to look but there's nothing there.

There's a bar across the door. He needs to lift that, somehow. His ears swivel with uncertainty, but he steps forward again and into a glittery cloud of...something...little floaty particles that fall around him and set his skin twitching wherever they touch.

He shakes his head, sending another fall of things to the floor, then sniffs for the Professor. He _likes_ the Professor. Not like he likes Brisco, but then Brisco is his two-footed brother.

But very odd things just like this often happen when the Professor is around. And sometimes Comet does not like those things very much at all.

The stable is still and quiet. He shakes more prickling particles out of his coat and considers the door blocking his way. Turns his head to chew on a particularly itchy patch on his hindquarters. 

And when he swings his head back around he whinnies and rears up, kicking out, because for a moment he was face-to-face with a softly glowing human. But his hooves don't connect with anything and when he comes back to earth for just a moment he wonders if there was something in that hay.

Until a glowing thin stick comes crashing down not on but through his muzzle, a spray of golden sand behind it.

He sneezes. And puts his muzzle right against the face of the little human, who _flies back_ away from him, toward the door, and folds his arms. Considering Comet with a scowl and tapping his foot on the air beneath it.

Comet shakes his head and paws again before dancing sideways, but the little floating human follows him with its eyes. It folds its arms and pats its stick on its forearm, sending down a tiny cascade of glittering sand, and Comet watches the stick closely. Brisco doesn't, but some humans use sticks to hurt horses and this one's already hit him with its. 

Sort of.

He snorts and considers whether bringing his hindquarters around would be wise, but the gold human narrows its eyes at him — and then flows right into his space again. Sets a tiny hand — almost like a child's — on his muzzle just above his nostril, and raises the stick.

"Sandy!"

The little human pauses and rolls his eyes, then vaults over Comet's head when a very large, very loud man wearing a black fur hat and red everywhere else on his body throws the doors open as though there were no bar in place. Comet sidles again, chin drawn down toward his neck and ears laid back.

"But what is this?" The man's language has an accent Comet's only occasionally heard, and he steps back when one huge hand reaches for his halter. "So much for 'not a creature was stirring', eh my little friend?"

Comet hears a soft almost jingling noise from behind him. Turns his head enough to watch both humans; the golden one is making shapes of sand over his head. Which is distracting enough for the red one to get his hand in Comet's cheek-strap; he tugs and Comet chooses to face him rather than fight the strength of that pull.

The human's skin is more like Brisco's, or even Dixie's, and his eyes are very blue. And, somehow, familiar.

Comet snorts, shakes his head, and pulls back to rear up again. But he can't bring his forefeet off the ground, can't lift his head enough to shift his weight. No one should weigh this much.

"Easy, _Kometa_ , easy. I am here looking for Sandy. But I think perhaps you could help me, instead."

Comet's head comes up, just a little, and his ears prick forward.

"Oh-Ho-Ho, you want to know what's in it for you, do you?"

Comet snorts and nods.

"You liked green apples, once upon a time. I think this is still so." The hand not holding his halter comes out of the man's pocket, and the apple sitting on his palm is so perfect Comet has to work his tongue and lips to keep from drooling.

"Very good, my four-legged friend! I am needing to travel a great distance this evening, as there is a _teensy-tiny_ problem with my sleigh."

The little golden human, who was on his way out the open door, throws his hands up and shakes his head before puffing away in a cloud of gold dust. Comet's ears are pinned back; he stomps twice with his left forefoot and shakes his head.

"No, no! I am not stealing you! I am wishing to make a, what is it, a business proposing to you. You help me, we make many children happy, and I fill your feed bucket with this fruit when we return."

Comet considers the offer. Whickers.

"He will not know you have been gone. My word on that, and your own speed to back it."

He looks pointedly at someone's carriage tack, then back at the man who slaps him on the shoulder. It stings.

"You're no cart horse, my fine lad. _ELVES!_ "

Comet jumps at the shout, and even the stableboy mumbles and rolls over in his sleep. The jingling of tiny bells precedes a number of tiny, tiny creatures, barely bigger than the barn cat, making their way in, carrying a bag Comet is certain he can't carry.

But when the elves finish building a ladder of themselves, and sling the pack over his back, he finds himself wearing a pair of saddlebags instead. And also a bright red saddle and green blanket that are ill-suited to his coat. He snorts, and startles when bells chime again.

"So. Have we an agreement?"

Comet looks back at the man with his blue eyes and his white beard and red cheeks and clothing, who is now wearing an absurd furry black Stetson-like hat, and nods.

"Excellent!" the man cries, and vaults into the saddle. "On, Comet!"

They thunder out of the building like they're being chased by his namesake, a dozen jingling elves clinging to his tack.

*******

When they get back to the stable, it's still dark.

When they get back to the stable, Comet is almost staggering from exhaustion.

When they get back to the stable, Comet has seen things.

When they get back to the stable, Comet is already positively stuffed on carrots.

When they get back to the stable, Comet is trying to understand how he flew.

But most importantly, when they get back to the stable, the impossible saddlebags are empty, the large, loud man is satisfied with himself, and the promised apples are in the feed bucket.

Comet allows the elves to remove his kit, allows himself to be herded into the stall. He tolerates another currying, though the elves are not as thorough as Brisco had been. They offer him water; he drinks deeply. It is pure and cool in a way his water usually is not.

The large, loud red man comes into the stall. Comet reaches out and pushes his shoulder with his nose; he laughs his booming laugh and rubs under Comet's forelock.

"Thank you, my friend," he says. "Sleep well. Merry Christmas!"

The stable is echoingly quiet when he vanishes with his elves. 

Comet shakes, stamps, looks longingly at the pile of apples, and drops his head down. There's a little prickle along his skin, a little shimmer of gold in the air, and he snorts his thanks and lets his heavy eyelids fall shut.

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to my beta Measured_Words.


End file.
